


like a wildfire

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i><br/>Liam hates his guts.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry Styles. People say his name with reverence in the training gym. Kids with a messy black scrawl on their boxing gloves tell their friends that they met Harry Styles down at the gym in East Lowell, that he smiled at them, signed his name across their knuckles. Liam’s not jealous. He’s signed a few gloves in his day.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A boxing au in which Liam is an excellent boxer who retired way too young and Harry Styles is the mysterious pro boxer from the rival gym across town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about training gyms and even less about actual boxing, so if you know about those things, don't look too closely. Many thanks to [thewrongshoes](https://twitter.com/thewrongshoes) for reading this over for me. This one is for all my Harry/Liam girls, because there isn't enough of this pairing in the universe and it is a pairing made of pure sunshine.

_____

Liam hates his guts.

Harry Styles. People say his name with reverence in the training gym. Kids with a messy black scrawl on their boxing gloves tell their friends that they met Harry Styles down at the gym in East Lowell, that he smiled at them, signed his name across their knuckles. Liam’s not jealous. He’s signed a few gloves in his day.

Liam’s seen him fight. It was an accident, almost, but he was over on the East side, stopping in to see Jimmy about buying their old heavy bags from them for a class Liam was going to start. He was sparring, Harry Styles was, and Jimmy was watching. The entire gym was watching, and Liam couldn’t pretend he wasn’t curious.

Harry was tall and gangly; loose-limbed like Liam had taught himself not to be. Liam focused his muscles; short, controlled strikes, but Styles seemed like he was all over the place. He was relaxed until he wasn’t, and he’d lain blows on his opponent that Liam hadn’t even seen coming. When the bell rang, and Styles had reached for his water bottle, his smile was as loose as his stance; eyes bright and clear when they found Liam at the side of the ring. Their eyes locked, quicky, Style’s grin curious and happy.

Liam had looked hastily away, pulling Jimmy back to his office to discuss taking the bags off his hands. He’d shoved Harry Styles to the back of his mind.

It’s impossible to ignore him, though. “That Harry Styles,” Liam’s heard too many times, “he’s got it! As good as you, Payne, I’d swear it!” Posters line the Trinity West community board, filled with Harry Styles’ consolation fights and his stats, tacked up over top of Liam’s fading ones, beside posters for Liam’s new youth classes.

Liam’s known guys like Harry Styles his entire life. They don’t have to work for anything, waltzing in and belonging, making friends with a wink and a smile. Liam’s not sure where Styles had come from, but he certainly hadn’t grown up at East Lowell. Even training at Trinity West, if Styles had been around as a child, Liam would have heard about it. No, he’d blown into town in the past year, and started making waves.

Liam isn’t going to pretend he isn’t biased. He’d started boxing as a place to belong, as a way to take back control as a child, when other kids would give him a hard time on the playground. Kids exactly like Harry Styles, posh and entitled, never giving a second thought to the scruffy kid in jeans from the charity shop.

It hadn’t taken very many black eyes before Liam’s father had agreed to drive him over to the run-down gym. He’d made a name for himself in that gym.

He doesn’t want to know anything about Harry Styles, not really. It doesn’t matter what he’s like outside of Liam’s head, he tells himself. 

Liam hates his guts. It’s definitely easier that way.

_____

He’s dismissing his fourth years when he sees someone standing against the back wall, lounging like he’s got a right to be standing in Liam’s gym. Harry Styles looks smart, Liam is annoyed with himself for noticing. His hair is tied behind his head in a messy bun. He’s in dark jeans that make his legs look impossibly long, and a plain black t-shirt that would be workout gear on anyone else. On Styles, though, it looks impossibly good.

Liam forces himself to think about how impractical the long, dangling chains of his necklaces would be in the gym. Ridiculous, really. Not at all attractive.

One of Liam’s students spots Styles just as they turn to head to the locker rooms, and Liam watches helplessly as his entire class rushes towards him, asking for pictures and drilling him on his last fight. Traitors.

He tries not to listen, leaning down to pick up stray towels, and spray the bags down so they’ll be fresh for his classes tomorrow. Harry’s laugh carries, though, his voice friendly as he insists that he’s not nervous for a match up he’s got in a few days with Niall Horan, a fighter from a few towns over who Liam’s matched up with many times. He pointedly doesn’t notice when Harry’s voice turns serious, and he gives Marco a few pointers on his step jab. Liam definitely doesn’t cut his eyes in their direction quickly, to see his entire class hanging on Harry Styles’ every word.

It’s good advice, though, a voice in the back of his mind tells him. Marco’s stance had been a little too spread. Liam shouldn’t have missed it.

“Alright, alright” Liam says suddenly, raising his voice in a tone he hopes doesn’t seem as unfriendly as he feels, “hit the showers, I’d like to be out of here at a decent hour.”

The kids groan, but get moving. Styles high-fives each of them as they go, giving them encouraging words and a genuine grin.

It’s not until the last of the kids disappears into the locker room that Liam thinks to wonder what the hell Harry Styles is doing at Trinity West.

“Liam Payne,” Harry says, “It’s good to meet you.”

“Harry Styles, yeah?” Liam stutters out, carefully avoiding Harry’s gaze as he sprays a hanging bag and starts wiping it down. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to say hello,” Styles says, cheerfully. Liam watches out of the corner of his eye and Styles leans over and picks up a rag and a spray bottle.

“You don’t have to do that,” Liam says, trying to will his heart to slow.

“No worries,” Styles says, as he starts wiping down Liam’s equipment.

“Your enrollment is amazing,” Harry drops casually, as they go through the motions together. “It’s more than twice what they get at East Lowell.”

“It’s not a contest,” Liam says, suddenly annoyed, “and really, mate. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, grabbing a new cloth from the bin of clean ones and running it over the benches to the side of the mats, “I like being helpful.”

Liam shrugs, and they work quietly for a few minutes. He almost forgets Harry’s there, going through his mental to-do list for closing up, until he hears him speak again.

“Your training program is amazing,” Harry muses, from where he’s folding and stacking clean towels into cubbies.

“Yes, it is,” Liam says. He throws his rag into the laundry, and turns to face Harry straight on for the first time. “Thank you for your help. But I’d like to know where this is heading. What is this all about?”

Harry leans over, setting his stack of towels down, before straightening up and rubbing his hands over the front of his jeans. Liam’s eyes catch on his long fingers, the easy way they curl over his thighs. He wonders what they’d feel like curled around his. Wait, what the actual fuck?

Liam can’t keep the blush off of his cheeks, even though he tells himself that Harry Styles isn’t a mind reader.

Harry takes a step towards Liam, studying him.

“I’ve been wondering about you, Liam Payne. I’ve heard you’re good.”

Liam’s not sure why his heart kicks into overdrive when he hears the words, but he’s sure as hell not going to deny them. He is good. He was… good. He nods, though, hoping Harry will continue, because that’s still not an explanation.

“You’ve got this amazing reputation, I’ve seen your stats, and I’ve watched some of your tape. You only teach now, though,” Harry says. He’s got this little crease between his eyes, like if he frowns at Liam long and hard enough, he can figure him out.

Liam’s got his response ready, his, “there’s nothing wrong with teaching,” at the tip of his tongue, but Harry cuts him off before he can vocalize it.

“I know, trust me, I know, training is fantastic, I really admire you,” Harry rushes to say, probably noticing the way Liam’s eyes had furrowed. “It’s just. You were great. You didn’t have to give it up, and I’m wondering why you did.”

Harry stares at Liam, shoving his hands into his pockets. Liam can’t help but stare back, unable to form words.

Who the fuck does Harry Styles think he is, waltzing into Liam’s gym and demanding answers to questions that Liam doesn’t even dare ask himself?

Liam heads over to the wall and picks up the full laundry basket, hauls out the bag so that he is doing something besides looking at Harry Styles’ face.

It’s the reason he misses it when Harry steps up to him, inches away. He startles when Harry’s hand rests on his arm, jerks with more panic than is necessary. Harry’s hand stays on him, though, and his eyes find Liam’s. It’s almost as if he…

No, Liam thinks, stepping away quickly, forcing Harry’s hand to drop. Liam feels it like a brand, the spot left vacant by Harry’s grip. He shoves the bag of laundry at him in a panic, something that seems to amuse Harry. He takes the bag, though, throws it over his shoulder with a sigh.

“You are an interesting person, Liam Payne. I’m glad I came over here tonight,” Harry lets his eyes rake down Liam’s body and then back up.

Liam’s breath catches in his throat, because Harry can’t honestly be… interested in… never in a million years would Liam have thought…

“And you’re fucking gorgeous, too,” Harry finishes with a wink, finally twirling around and heading towards the door.

He’s almost there by the time Liam finds his voice, stopping Harry just as he reaches the entrance. 

“Why did you come here?” Liam calls, proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake. Proud of the way he sounds confused and authoritative, instead of shaken up and… turned on.

Harry Styles stops and turns to him, the full bag of Liam’s gym laundry still secure over one shoulder, and he locks eyes with Liam in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

When he finally speaks, his voice is pitched deep, slow like honey, dragging heat up from somewhere deep in Liam’s gut.

“I want you to fight me,” Harry Styles says, but his smirk and his knowing eyes replace the word ‘fight’ with something else entirely.

The silence around them lasts moments that could be hours, but the sound of Liam’s students startle them out of it. 

Liam’s eyes dart towards the locker room, but when he turns back, Harry’s out the front door and gone into the night.

_____

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a stand alone ficlet in a universe that I plan to write more in eventually. <3


End file.
